Lost
by Queen Shnoogleberry
Summary: What if Holmes had really gone over the falls? But he did not die. He merely had amnesia. How would he find his way back? Slash... A nonslash version will be available upon request. rated M as I have no idea what's to come...
1. Chapter 1

(Disclaimer: I don't own them… If I did, the stories would have been considered porn… lol)

Sherlock Holmes gasped in horror as he felt the ground give way beneath him. He was falling. Moriarty was with him… Their arms locked together… They were going to die!

John! What would happen to him? The only person he had ever loved…

There was a sickening crunch, that of bone and flesh on rock. Then the world went black.

He sat up in the bed, but a gentle hand pressed him down again.

"No, no… you must rest." It was a feminine voice… with a German accent… The hands pressed something to his lips. A glass… he drank and the world dissolved again.

The man sat up in the bed. This time he opened his eyes. It was a glorious summer day… The sun was blazing outside the French doors of his room.

There was a rustling noise. A woman opened the door. "Ah, you're awake… good… You should be well enough to stay awake for a while." It was the woman that had nursed him.

"Who are you?" He looked at her. She was quite pretty, with waist length blonde hair that she word down, bright blue eyes and a perfect figure.

"I am Doctor Morgan Schlange." At the man's confusion, she rolled her eyes. "I had to be a veritable slave to my studies and even bribe, but so far, I have not lost patients that were within medical help."

"Women should not be doctors. It is too much of a strain on them." The answer was automatic. What was expected of him.

"Well then," She simply smiled. "I hope next time you nearly drown a real lady finds you. She can swoon as you die, rather than help you."

"Point taken… but don't you think it may be a bad habit to wish death on your patients?"

"Not really." She sat on the edge of the bed. "After all, I really didn't mean it, as you know full well. I just had to make my point." She gave him a sweet smile. "Now, what is your name?"

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He closed it and thought for a minute. "I… I really…"

"Amnesia. Not surprising. I'm sure it will clear."

"Where am I?"

"In my villa in Switzerland. I came here for the summer, and found you on a river bank."

"Oh… and you say I had nearly drowned?"

"Well you had some water in your lungs… There were a few times when we despaired for your life."

"We?"

"My husband and myself."

"Ah… Well… I do apologies for causing for causing you so much trouble… now…" His voice grew meek. "With my amnesia… I'm not sure how I can pay for-"

"Please! You insult me! I did not become a doctor for profit. My parents left me more than enough money to marry and live comfortably. I chose to be a doctor because I wanted to help people!"

"Oh… Well…"

She smiled at him and smoothed his black hair back in a motherly way, despite being clearly younger than him. "Do not worry. We will help you remember."

"Yes… thank you…" He smiled up at her with grateful eyes.

"Think nothing of it. Now, I think it is time you ate something then slept some more." She rose and left to get him some broth.

"Curious woman…" He muttered to himself as the door closed behind her. "But why do I feel so… desperate to remember…?"


	2. Chapter 2

The days passed with agonizingly slowness for the patient. He felt desperate to get back to his old life, but he didn't know just what that old life was...

He could feel someone calling to him, through the barriers of his memory...

"Come now, do you even remember ANYTHING?" Dr. Morgan asked him one day. "Perhaps if you could even remember a building..."

"No! Nothing!"

"Calm down there, I know you're frustrated, but you have to calm down..."

"I'm sorry, but I'm really worried..."

"I know... I know..." She sat down beside him. "I have an idea..."

"I'll try ANYTHING!"

"Ok, well I have several pictures of major cities in England, which, judging by your accent is where you're from. I want you to look through them and see if anything looks familiar..."

"Alright..."

He spent an hour starring at the various photographs. There was one... it showed a Hospital... hospital... doctors...? was he a doctor? No... Did he know a doctor, Perhaps?

London... London... all the pictures of the town seemed so familiar... was that his home? If so, who was he? London... London...

After a light supper on the grass Dr. Morgan looked at him. "Did anything come to you?"

"Yes, I think I am from London..."

"Then we will just have to take you there straightaway." Sechodd, her husband replied. He had long pitch-black hair tied in the back in a manner that would have fashionable in the previous centaury. He was tall and really thin (the same size as the patient, which came in useful as he could borrow clothes). He had an almost vampiric look about him, but his voice was healthy and strong and he would often sing duets with his wife in the evenings. Morgan had an operatic voice and said once that if she had not been a doctor she would have sung professionally... The couple were obviously deeply in love, but still managed to not blend their identities.

"Yes, I would like that!"

"Then pack and we will leave on the morrow." Morgan responded.


	3. Chapter 3

They caught the train to the coast and from there it was a trip of two days to England. The whole trip the patient spent in nervous tension.

One evening, as they docked in the great harbour, he could not resist a shudder. Sechodd stood with him on the cobble stones whine Morgan saw to their luggage.If anyone thought it strange, they said nothing. Something about Morgan's powerful presence could be felt in the air around her.

I sent a tellegram ahead of us. We are expected at our usual hotel.

Sechodd caught a cab and they all piled into it. Morgan seemed perfectly at ease, as she always seemed to. 'A defense mechanism...' The patient thought.

As they drove through the city, the patient became more and more sure that he lived in London, probably because he knew every street name without even seeing the signs. 'We're going to The London Grand, right?"

"Precicley." Morgan smiled at him. "It seems that you know this city."

"Indeed... but... I still don't even remember anything about ME..."

"All in good time." Sechodd replied gently.

When they arrived at the hotel, Morgan ordered hot bathes for all three of them and while they waited for the waster, they unpacked. With a few more minutes to spare before the bathes were ready, the patient sat before the empty fireplace. He looked into the grey and black ash as if it could tell him something. He noticed a scrap of newspaper, probably used in starting a fire, caught at the back. Curious, he picked it up and brushed it off onto his already dirty coat.

'... Memorial Servce for Sher... ... Missing Since Last...' was all he could make out. He could not pry his eyes off it. It was like looking in the mirror for the first time in ones life. Someone with a name that started tith the letters 'sher' had been missing. It was 'missing' that caught his attension more than anything. He would surely be filed as missing, as his body had obviously not yet been found...

He rose and scowered the room for a paper, perhapse there would be more... All he found was an old coppy of the 'Strand' Magazine. He began to flip through. He did not get far into it when he was called to take his bath.

Little did he know that he was a single page from a story called 'The Naval Treaty'.

As he was bathing, a new maid, one that did not know what things to leave alone, came through and took the magazine down with her. It was old and appeared discarded. It would provide ammusement for the staff that night...

The patient cam eout of the bathroom later to see supper laid out on the table before him. Only then did he realize how hungry he was. All thoughts of the magazine vanished from his mind as he sat down to a hearty meal with his friends and benefactors.

The next morning, he was woken, rather late, by Morgan. "Hurry and dress. I have ordered breakfast and a cab will be here in half an hour."

"Wha... Why?"

She sighed and sat on the slipper chair beside his bed. "I have booked it for the day. I am going to have you tell the driver where to go. We can travel in circles for all I care, but try to use it to jog your memory. Just tell him to go where you think is best."

"...alright..."

"Good," She patted his hand, "Up then!"

The cab was a four-wheeler, large and comfortable. It was driven by a cheerful looking man, whom was aware of the situation.

The patient immeaditly started giving directions to a area near Hyde Park...


	4. Chapter 4

They arrived on Baker Street. At the sight of the familiar name on the sign, the patient gave a start.

"Baker Street... I remember reading some stories about a detective who lived here... but that was a long time ago..." Morgan said, trying to relieve the tension.

"Indeed..." The patient frowned. It was not a surprise to him. In fact, he wondered about the possibility of consulting this man...

They drove on for a few blocks when the patient, suddenly, rose and shouted. "Stop! Stop here!!" He alighted from the carriage and began to pace the side walk. After a short time, like a hound that lost and finally caught the scent again, he began to run toward a house down the block.

Morgan and Sechodd caught up with him as he was standing in front of number 221. "Should we knock?" She asked.

"Let me." The patient lift a shaky hand to the knocker and knocked with a firmer sounding hand.

The door was opened, after several seconds, by an older woman dressed in the black of mourning. It was evident that she had just been crying and she took a handkerchief to her eyes.

"May I help you? I assume that you're here to look at the rooms...?"

"Um, no." Morgan, ever the masterful one, took charge. "We... well... It's something of a long and awkward story. We-" She was cut off by the woman giving a cry of shock and joy.

"Mr. Holmes! Can it really be you?!"

The patient stood there, being squeezed by the woman and looking completely clueless. "I... what?"

"Oh, Mr Holmes," She cried, trying to dry her eyes amongst the fresh flood of, this time joyful, tears.

"I'm afraid I don't know who you mean..."

"But... Mr. Holmes, you-"

"Might we come in? I'm afraid that it's rather a long story."

"Yes! Please! I'll make tea!"

They all followed her into a comfortable kitchen/dining room. Morgan took over the task of explaining everything to the distraught woman.

"So that's why he didn't send any notice that he was alright... Dr. Watson will be thrilled to find that you're alive. He was unbelieveably distraught over the loss of you, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock said nothing, but sat there, biting his lip and pondering. Some things were comming back to him. He remembered his name, for example, and that of his friend. But he could not remember what he looked like or if he was the person he had been dreaming about.

"Perhapse I should take you to your room. Maybe some thing there will help you to remember." Mrs. Hudson suggested.

"That might be a good idea. Where is this Dr. Watson?"

"Oh, I'm afraid that he is out. Since your dissappearance he has taken to burrying himself in his practice. He's at it often for fourteen hours a day. Blames himself, he did, for your death."

"I see..."

All four of them went up to the second floor. The room was almost unbearably still. Like a moselum. Mrs. Hudson went to open the window. Morgan and Sechodd stood in the doorway. Both knew not to interfere. Sherlock, meanwhile, had walked forward into the room. After looking around for a long time, he walked over to the fireplace and sat down in the chair to the right. He paused there for a few minutes and rose. He sat down in the lefthand chair with a sigh of content. Everything was perfectly familiar to him. He didn't feelthe slightest bit awkward, in fact, he was home and he knew it. He heard the three others leave the room.

Now all he had to do was await this Watson fellow...


End file.
